


part of a world that no one believes in

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fraternization, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're doing this right if we're doing this at all," Nate says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	part of a world that no one believes in

Brad's not really sure how it happens, only partly because he's halfway to sleep. He hasn't been alone in days (and he's not really alone even now, since the LT's next to him, his shoulder pressed against Brad's), and he should be sleeping, but he's not. One minute, he's lazily telling the LT a joke Ray told him earlier, and the next, Nate (and that's when Brad knows he's fucked) leans closer and kisses Brad, lips chapped from the dry desert air. It's dusk, afternoon light fading into darkness. They're resting against a berm, so it's relatively private, but their platoon isn't too far away.

"What—" Brad starts, but Nate cuts him off.

"We're doing this right if we're doing this at all," he says.

Brad's concerned (he doesn't show it, of course), but he thought Nate would be even worse, worrying about the discrepancy between their ranks or taking advantage. It's kind of comforting that he's not. "Okay," Brad says, swallowing around the lump in this throat just before Nate kisses him again. Nate's lips slide over his, coaxing Brad's mouth open so he can slip his tongue in.

Brad can taste the peanut butter MRE Nate must have had earlier, which sucks, but he's not going to stop because of it. He's wanted this for too long to let something as trivial as peanut butter get in the way. Nate's tongue slips a little deeper into Brad's mouth, and Brad opens for him, before realizing that they really don't have fucking _time_ for this. If something—namely, getting off, which Brad assumes is Nate's plan, either short-term or long-term—is going to happen, then one of them has to get a move on.

When he pulls back, Nate's eyes are still closed, his lips slick. Brad wishes they had time for more than just a hurried jack, wishes they were in a bed somewhere and Nate could suck him off with that fucking gorgeous mouth of his. There's no way for Brad to get Nate like he wants him, naked and flushed and anywhere other than here. He does manage to unzip Nate's MOPP suit and work a hand inside.

His hand finds skin, sweat-slicked and grimy, right away. Nate's free-balling it, and it's not as much of a surprise to Brad as it should be. The quiet, baby-faced ones are always the dirtiest.

"More," Nate grunts—not an order, but Brad still does what he's told, tightens his hand and strokes harder, intent on getting Nate off. He slips his fingers behind Nate's balls, pressing just hard enough to make Nate curse.

A few seconds later though, Nate's shoving his own hands down Brad's pants, probably having realized that Brad wasn't getting off, wasn't even touching himself. It's so much better than Brad imagined it, fantasies paling in comparison to the feel of Nate's tongue against his own, Nate's hand moving on his cock, his on Nate's.

Nate comes first, body tensing against Brad, this look of pure satisfaction on his face as he spills onto Brad's hand and the dry ground.

"Christ, _Brad_ ," he murmurs, mouth hot against Brad's jaw. When he's finished, he gets Brad's suspenders and underwear down, and leans over and takes the head of Brad's dick into his mouth, no pretense or teasing. Brad's fucking filthy—they all are—and Nate doesn't seem at all bothered by it.

It's been too long since Brad's had this, and Nate's mouth has been the subject of more jacks than Brad cares to admit. (He's also had to tell Ray multiple times to shut the fuck up about it, but that's a different story.) Nate's tongue wraps around Brad's cock, silky-rough and doing things that make Brad clench his fists, before he gives up and lets his hands rest on Nate's shoulders.

He looks down at Nate, sees Nate's lips, swollen and pink, closed around Brad's dick, Nate's eyes, gone dark with want, and spills into Nate's mouth. Nate doesn't pull away, just waits for Brad to finish and spits off to the side, kicking dust over the little pool of come on the ground.

In the distance, there's the sound of artillery fire, and Brad's reminded where they are, that they shouldn't have done what they did. Right now, he doesn't give a fuck about any of it, but he has no idea what's going on in Nate's head. It's unsettling.

"Nate?" he asks cautiously, because he doesn't know if now's the time they go back to _sir_ and _Sergeant_.

"Get some sleep, Brad," Nate tells him. "Tomorrow's a big day for us." He zips up and walks off, leaving Brad alone for the first time in ages, the secondhand taste of peanut butter lingering in his mouth.


End file.
